Ideas Are Like Stars
by Beverly McIntyre
Summary: A seasonal tale. This one has Longshot making an overworked waitress' day.


**Disclaimer:** 'Tis the season to be very charitable. All noticeable characters belong to Marvel, everything else contained in this small, little tale is mine. I'm making no profit from this. It is a gift to the fanfic community as a whole.

**Note:**  
_italics_ = thoughts  
["doobie doobie doo"] = music

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Ideas Are Like Stars  
By: Beverly McIntyre

The waitress was making rounds on her lunch shift. It was the Christmas rush, when people became extremely impatient and expected immediate service from already over-worked employees. Christmas carols blared over the speakers in the diner trying to make the place more festive but only making it hard to get the orders down right without having to be screamed at.

[_Oh, star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright._]

She pasted on her best Merry Christmas smile. She had already had a half dozen complaints about her service today and it didn't appear to be getting any better. It also didn't help that the regular chef had quit this morning and was replaced by someone she could have swore didn't understand a word of English.

She approached a man sitting in the corner booth. He was a tall, blond fellow with odd hands. He only had three fingers and a thumb per hand. She snapped her gum as she remembered his explanation: "a mechanical rice-picker accident." He looked up at her with those startlingly blue eyes as she approached.

_Oh God. When was the last time I came 'round to his table. . . Not since I gave him his meal. . . Well, here goes another complaint._

"How're you doin' hon?" An easy smile brightened his face, and the waitress felt something inside of her just melt. This guy was so extremely handsome. _And so far, the most civil customer I've had today._ She idly wondered what it would take for her to get a guy like him.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"Anything else I can get for you?"

"Could I have a cup of hot cocoa to go and my check?" He had asked so sweetly that she felt little butterflies dance inside of her. This guy had to be popular with the ladies. If not, the waitress was getting the urge to snap him up before they would start flocking to him.

"Sure thing, hon. I'll be right back."

Longshot watched as his waitress made her way toward the the diner's counter. He watched as she was abruptly pulled over by an irate customer and demanded that she take these runny eggs back to the chef and shove them down his throat. She apologetically took the plate from the customer and excused herself to the kitchen.

He sighed at the scene. "She's only human," he muttered. No matter how much explanation his teammates could ever get him, Longshot would never understand why people treated each other so poorly.

Longshot shook his head as he reached into his pocket and drew out a large handful of coins. He set the coins out on the table and began to arrange them in neat circles, lines, and arcs. When he finished, he pushed himself out of the booth. He got up and pulled his crumpled jacket out of the corner of the booth. He slid it on as the waitress came up behind him with his cup of cocoa and his check.

"You sure you don't want anything else? A piece of apple pie maybe," she asked, trying to get him to stay longer. Longshot smiled at her. She noticed the leather jacket he was wearing had an eight-pointed star over the heart.

"No thank you," he said simply as he took his check and steaming beverage from her. He carefully wove his way through the glut of tables and made his way to the cashier. The waitress watched him until he got up to the register then turned to bus the table he had just left. Since the busboy called in sick again, all the wait staff had to bus their own tables.

Sighing, she walked over to the table, snapping her gum. She stopped dead in her tracks when she got a good look at the tabletop. Spelled out neatly in dimes and quarters were the words 'THANK YOU' and 'MERRY CHRISTMAS.'

She looked back over her shoulder at the register, but her perfect little customer had already disappeared into the teeming throngs of last-minute shoppers on the street. She turned back to the table and began to clear her tip off. "And Happy New Year to you, hon."

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~fin 


End file.
